


Tendrils

by mmmuse



Category: Poldark - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-11 13:34:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8982037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mmmuse/pseuds/mmmuse
Summary: “Do you know, it was your hair that first drew my notice of you?”  A fluffy little Poldark AU Christmas ficlet.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [xxSparksxx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxSparksxx/gifts).



> When I was in Cambridge a few weeks ago, my dear friend and fic-buddy xxSparksxx asked me to write a fic to explain why Demelza wears her hair down, contrary to the style of the day. 
> 
> Written as part of the Awaiting Julia universe because AwaitingJulia!Ross knows how to use his words. *ahem*
> 
> Happy Christmas, my darling friend and I wish everyone the very best this holiday season!

“Ross?”

“Hmmm?” he responded absently, without looking up from his book. 

“Would you mind it so terribly if I were to cut my hair?”

His head snapped up, the book tumbling into his lap. “Wh-What did you say, Demelza?” He stood, ignoring the soft thump the book made when it struck the rug, and turned to face his wife. 

She sat in her nightrail at the new dressing table he’d secretly constructed in the mine office over the last several weeks. He hadn’t been able to wait until Christmas Day to surprise her, even if there were only a few hours left before the day dawned. She’d squealed with excitement the moment she’d seen it, leaping into his arms and gifting him with a much-appreciated kiss. 

“I asked if you would mind terribly if I were to cut my hair,” she repeated, setting the brush down and drawing her slender fingers through the locks in question.

He blinked. “My dear, why on earth would you want to do that?” he asked, incredulously. It was the slow, rhythmic strokes of her brush through her thick, curling hair -- in addition to the excellent brandy he’d had with his pudding -- that had lulled him into the sleepy, contented state he’d been in, until she’d asked her question.

“I was thinking it might make it easier around the baby.” She turned a tender gaze towards the crib where their daughter Julia, now seven months old, lay sleeping, her stomach round and full from her last feeding. “You know how she is, Ross. Fascinated with tugging and chewing on it.”

Demelza was right, of course. He did know, first hand, how Julia seemed to be transfixed by the long strands of hair that often came within grabbing distance. She’d managed to separate several from his own head after supper that very evening.

“I suppose I could wear it up,” she mused, looking at her reflection in the mirror. “But it’s harder to do, now that it’s so long. I mean, I would never be able to make it look all refined, like Verity or…” 

She trailed off. Always measuring herself against Elizabeth. He chided himself for failing to reassure his wife of her place in his heart. “Demelza.” He met her eyes in the glass. He’d purchased the wavery thing from a peddler in Truro, and he wished it were finer so she could see the beauty he saw every day. 

“If it were shorter, I could easily wrap it in one of my ribbons or a scarf,” she said, turning to face him. He didn’t like the pleading he saw in her eyes and was by her side in an instant, drawing her up from the chair and into his arms. 

“My love,” he said softly, “what you do or don’t do with your hair is for you to decide.” He combed his fingers through it. “May I offer you my observations, before you take your shears to it?” She nodded, curiosity replacing the uncertainty in her eyes. “Do you know, it was your hair that first drew my notice of you?”

She blinked in surprise. “Truly?”

He nodded. “At Jim and Jinny’s wedding.” He smiled at the memory. “You had it tied up with one of the scraps of material you’d found around Nampara. It looked like spun copper, and a tendril spiraled down your neck, right about here.” He ran the tip of his finger along the side of her neck, just behind her ear. She shivered at the caress and so he repeated it until she leant into it like an orange tabby cat. “You’d become a young, attractive woman in my eyes that day, and those fine tendrils trailing along your graceful neck were enough for me to stare at and ponder about, long before you’d appeared before me in that blue dress.”

“Oh, Ross.” 

She blushed prettily and he brushed a kiss across her lips. “Shall I go on, my dear?” he asked, his voice grown husky with want. She nodded, running the tip of her nose against his chin. “You wore it down, after we married. It barely reached the tops of your shoulders, but it was still long enough for me to run my fingers through when I’d steal a kiss or two in the barn.” Which he did now before pulling her closer, his cheek touching hers. “Or when you lay under me at night, your heels hooked around me, drawing me tight as I shudder inside you.” 

He kissed her ear, his lips nibbling along her jaw and throat as she trembled and sighed against him. He eased back to look into her eyes, grown languid from his attentions. “If I hadn’t been in love with you by then, watching you blossom with our child would have done so.” Those pools of sea-green turned a shade stormy and he kissed her quiet. “I know we are of differing opinions about this, my dear, but you will hold onto your disagreements with me for now. Are we agreed?” 

She wrinkled her nose. “Just this once, husband.” 

He smiled, his hands moving slowly over her buttocks and up her spine until they cupped her full breasts, ever changed by their child into something almost holy. “Your beauty made me speechless at times. Your hair reached your waist by the time our girl arrived. Long, thick and so fragrant against our pillow each night.” He kissed her again, deeper this time, his tongue brushing hers. He broke their kiss, his fingers woven into the glory of her hair.. “To see you, walking across the moors, with this red-gold fire blowing in the breeze, or to have it cascade down around my face when you ride me. I am filled with a love and a longing so deep I’d not known of its like.” Another kiss, more urgent. “So yes, my dear, what you do or don’t do with your hair is for you to decide. And I shall love you regardless of your decision. Only know that it would please me forever if you did not.”

“Darling Ross,” she breathed, her fingers fisting gently in his own hair, making him growl low in his throat. “For you, let me keep it and you always.” 

No more was said, but much more was done.


End file.
